


The Ocean.

by elvenwolf



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy is not an asshole, DeGroot knows, M/M, Porn With Plot, Smut, set somewhere between season 3 and 4, we didn't see it but it happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvenwolf/pseuds/elvenwolf
Summary: Yes, maybe he could be both; the ocean that was filling his lungs, and the air he needed to breathe





	The Ocean.

“What’s to stop me from killing you anyway?” Flint would never admit how amusing he found the man's behavior.

“Well…” Silver exaggerated a sigh. “That’s a few weeks from now, isn’t it? We might be friends by then.”

            Billy shook his head, already guessing Flint’s answer. Gates tried so hard to stifle his laughter but failed miserably. And Flint, well, his smirk said it all. He had only needed a quick glance towards that man to know he could be a really useful asset.

 

It had been months since that moment. That kind of mood, the laughter, the sarcasm, the genuine smiles, it was all gone now. Too many things had been lost, too many people. When books talk of pirates, they forget to tell the nightmare that is to hunt a treasure, the consequences of such a quest. The constant fear of betrayal even from those they are closest with. The risk of being the ones in disadvantage, with only one ship and an exhausted crew, when others have a whole fleet at their disposal. The storms, that terrifying roar that feels as if the ocean itself wanted to give out a warning: “I am your way of life, but I also can be your end.”

To captain Flint, Silver was the ocean.

He remembered the day he finally felt the strength to talk about his past, about Thomas, about Miranda; that kind of strength one can only gather after discovering that yes, trust is hard to earn, but once someone dares to walk through your darkness and reach the end of the road, they have it. And that’s exactly what Silver had done, completely ignoring the risk that it was to get mingled with that darkness, the risk of having it spread all over his own soul. He had walked through Flint’s darkness and reached that small but shimmering spark that once was James McGraw.

He remembered Silver’s concern after realizing how the Hamiltons ended up, and his fear of following the same path. Silver had feared Flint would become his end, when in reality it was the other way around. John Silver was the ocean and the storm and everything Flint cherished and dreaded, and he would be Flint’s end. Captain Flint could already feel himself drowning, his chest was a bit heavier, lungs slowly running out of air. He thought that, maybe, John Silver could become the air too. Yes, maybe he could be both; the ocean that was filling his lungs, and the air he needed to breathe.

“Flint!” A shout brought the captain back to reality. He jumped on the chair and hit his left knee against the desk, hissing in annoyance. How did he not hear his cabin’s door open? “Where were you?”

Flint looked up to the figure standing beside him. Silver had a strange look on his eyes, it almost seemed genuine concern.

“You really must have been far way,” Silver snorted, “I can’t exactly walk quietly anymore.”

“What do you want?” The captain tried to ignore the harshness in his own voice. Silver sighed, walked to the hammock and sat on it. None of them remembered when those liberties stopped bothering Flint.

“We are getting closer to the beach. DeGroot says we could be on the shore in an hour.” Flint nodded. He didn’t like the idea of spending a whole day and night on an unknown island; but the ship could really do some repairs, and the crew needed to recover their sense of stability after sailing for so many days. Motion sickness was disorienting, it felt unnatural to have their brains knowing their feet were on firm ground, and yet the rocking of the ship still echoing in their bodies. “A small group will travel further into the island to get water.”

“They should wait until tomorrow. If this island is inhabited, it’ll be preferable if we aren’t discovered until we’re ready to leave.” Silver gave him that look and nod that assured his suggestion would be communicated to the crew, but probably not listened. Flint stood up and stretched, hearing his shoulders crack with the movement. And Silver found himself staring to the way Flint rolled his neck and sighed, wondering if there were so many freckles on the rest of his body as were on his neck and collarbones. Before the captain managed to move away from the desk Silver stood up, the sudden action stopping Flint in his tracks and making him look at the quartermaster.

“Something is wrong with you.” Silver walked towards him. “More than usual.”

“I’m fine.” Flint rolled his eyes. When all he received was silence, he looked at Silver to find him staring at his neck. He rolled his eyes once more and decided that joking once a month was healthy, and so he did. “Are you?”

Silver blinked, startled by the way he had lost himself. Flint’s lighthearted joke made him smile and he didn’t fight the urge to mimic the captain and roll his eyes too. He used to wonder if the sea had decided to take place inside Flint’s eyes, sometimes green, sometimes blue, sometimes both. He doesn’t wonder anymore, he decided to believe it long ago. If there was something that Silver couldn’t understand was how a man with such bright eyes could be touched by so much darkness. So dense and suffocating that until not long ago he had feared he would end up being consumed by it.

John Silver had seen the way Flint looked at the flames of the fire when he spoke of his past. He saw sadness and heartbreak in his eyes every time he mentioned Thomas, and yet they grew brighter and warmer. He listened to the whispers even though they were alone. And, for some reason he couldn’t understand, he wished they had meet a lot earlier. Maybe they would have been able to save Thomas together. He also wished he could find a way to push away the coldness that had decided to find a home in his eyes; probably in his heart too, and in his hands. _Yes_ , he thought, _his hands are always cold_. He felt it every time he had helped him to stand up after a long and exhausting sparring, or when they helped each other outside the violent rocking of the boat when the waves broke wildly at the shore.

“John,” it sounded almost like a whisper, it made him look at Flint, “what are you doing?”

He realized then, he had grabbed Flint’s hand. He didn’t move, didn’t dare to. His skin was cold and there were freckles on his naked arms, just as he knew there would be. Then he also realized Flint had used his first name, something he barely did. There was a frown on his face, on both his faces. Both of confusion. Still, Silver didn’t let go. He held the captain’s hand between his, rubbing slightly, trying to create some friction to warm it up a bit. Flint just watched, fighting a feeling he didn’t know he could still feel and the pain it caused. The hand against Flint’s palm found its way up to his wrist, and his thumb started to trace slow circles over it, eliciting a soft sigh from Flint.

“What are you doing?” Another whisper, but this time it was another kind of confusion.

“Your hands are cold.” Silver was whispering too, almost as if he feared that speaking louder would push Flint away.

“They always are.” Flint wanted to shiver, wanted to take a step forward and give in to whatever it was that Silver intended to do. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. So the ocean that was that man in front of him did it instead; because he knew. Silver was a perceptive man and he saw and understood what that resistance meant. He moved closer, pressed Flint’s hand to his chest, over his heart, using both hands to warm the wrist and forearm. Flint sighed again, and this time it sounded broken, he felt like he could cry.

“I know.” Of course he knew. And it was sad and dark and Silver wanted to fix it.

“John…” A warning to stop. A cry for help. Flint didn’t know anymore. Because Silver was the ocean and he felt like drowning again, but Silver was also the air and his lungs were screaming for it.

Silver was suffocating. He felt like the darkness in Flint was engulfing him and taking his breath away, he wanted to function again and maybe, just maybe, the reason behind his shiver was that he was stealing some of Flint’s cold. But deep down he knew that it was the ocean in his eyes what made him tremble. Flint felt the shiver through his hand, the strong heartbeat, the warmth. He wanted to move away, to stop this before he dragged Silver further into his void _. I’m going to break you_ , he wanted to say, _please, stop_.

“Ready the launches!” The spell broke. Billy’s strong voice filled the cabin and startled both of them. They almost jumped away from each other, breathing hard, as if their touches suddenly burned their skin.

“Go.” Flint growled, voice rough and harsh, pained, angry. Silver left without a word.

On the shore, Billy stopped in his tracks when he saw Flint ahead of him but not Silver. He turned around and walked to the quartermaster, steading the boat as much as he could. Silver ignored the silent question in his eyes.

 

By the time the sun was a semicircle on the horizon the shore was a mix of waves, voices and the clashing of bottles accompanied by a laugh every now and then. Flint was nowhere to be found. And Silver felt even heavier now that the darkness was spreading also on the sky. He took a sip of the bottle and nodded to something Ben said, not really knowing what. But by the look the boy gave him, he could have just said yes to set the island on fire for all he knew. Billy watched the scene in silence, pushed some burning branches back into the fire with another and tried to suppress a scowl. The tension these past days had been so dense the crew could almost chew on it. Billy wished, momentarily, that it was the kind of tension that makes people look away with reddening cheeks, not in fear of ending up with a gun pointed to their faces. Billy and DeGroot exchanged looks. This needed to end now. It wasn’t the moment to have a captain and a quartermaster that could end up being the death of them all.

“Where is Flint?” At the sound of the captain’s name, Silver looked at DeGroot. He squinted, that wasn’t an innocent question.

“Silver, can you go find him?” Blunt. Billy was utterly tactless.

 

Sighing, he stood up, slightly wincing when his still sensitive wound pressed against the iron leg. He started walking, away from the crew, not really knowing in which direction he could find the captain. He just walked. He walked until he got tired and his brothers were the size of a fingernail behind him. Until he decided he had enough of not knowing, and sat on the sand with a thud. He laid down, wanted to close his eyes, but he saw the stars. He saw the stars in the night sky and remembered Flint’s freckles. He could create constellations out of his skin. He frowned, scolding himself for such a thought, and then he did close his eyes, tried to think about anything. About Nassau, about his home, about the treasure. He thought of how he ended up becoming a pirate, about how different his life was now. He belonged to a crew, he spent days and nights on the ocean. The ocean. It had an allure, something that called him and couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Maybe it was the sound, the lullaby that helped him sleep every night. Or the color. Such a massive amount of blue, of green, of Flint’s eyes.

_Fuck_.

“That’s dangerous.” Silver gasped, hand going for his gun but remembering he’d left it behind.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, Flint.” He almost roared. Behind him, a deep laugh took away any trace of irritation the scare had caused. The rush of sand warned him of the captain’s approach, and a few seconds later he saw his silhouette sitting down next to him; close enough that their shoulders were touching.

Silver frowned. That morning Flint had all but kicked him out. Now he had laughed. He didn’t know what was going on, he couldn’t read Flint anymore, not like he could before.

Yes, he had enough of not knowing.

“I don’t think the guys can handle this situation for much longer.” He said, feeling Flint tensing up next to him. “And to be honest, me neither.”

There was a pause. A silence that was saying so many things Silver couldn’t process them all. And then, out of the blue, he felt a cold hand grab his. He held his breath, let it go when Flint repeated Silver’s actions and pressed his hand over a strangely steady heart. He wanted the sun to come out again, he couldn’t see anything. Not the ocean in his eyes, not the freckles on his skin, not his expression. He couldn’t read a book without light to illuminate the pages. So he decided to risk it, he decided to put into words what Flint wanted to say; after all, they worked better together.

“Are you cold?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation on Flint’s voice. Maybe he felt safer there, in the darkness. Maybe the familiarity with it encouraged him to be braver, or maybe he was just like Silver and the absence of light allowed them to say what they needed to say without seeing each other, without having to face the possible rejection.

A hand ran down his hair, untying the piece of fabric that kept it from obscuring his vision. Silver let his head fall back into the touch, and Flint sighed. It was just like he thought it would be, the salt of the sea air barely noticeable in the soft locks. He pulled at it, inciting a gasp from Silver, and suddenly he knew he needed to hear that sound again. This time he pulled harder, and Silver all but moaned.

“James…” That was all the cue the captain needed. His name rolled off his tongue so easily and it felt so natural that this time he completely ignored the pang of pain it caused.

A pair of hands pushed Silver backwards until his back touched the sand, and the quartermaster felt the weight of James’ chest against his own. But he needed more, he had needed more for too long. He bent his good leg, the one closest to James, and slid it under the captain’s body and around him so he could settle between his legs. Flint gasped, finding out that the night had concealed the distance between their faces and only when John exhaled and the warmth touched his own lips he realized how close they were. James was a drowning man, and John breathing against his mouth was the air he needed. So he let himself be saved. He closed the distance and kissed John with a desperation he didn’t know he could feel.

John moaned into the kiss, feeling lightheaded and _alive_. He grabbed James’ jaw, his shoulders, his chest, his face, his short hair. Every touch made the captain gasp into the kiss, and so he retaliated. Supporting his weight with one hand he ran the other down John’s body, from his hair to his neck; where John gasped in a particularly intense way. James kept going until he found his hipbone. He squeezed, making John arch into the touch and suddenly everything was on fire. His hips rubbed together, agonizingly slow but hard, coaxing a moan off of them. John moved his hands down the captain’s chest until he found the edge of his shirt and pulled hard enough to make James laugh and raise up to take it off. He did the same with John’s shirt before sinking back into the only ocean he wouldn’t mind drowning in.

James found John’s neck in the darkness and left open mouthed kisses that made John whisper his name and raise his hips to rub himself harder against James. He bit down, and nails dragged down his back almost painfully, causing him to growl against his neck. John breathed hard on his ear, driving him mad, threatening to cut the last string of self-control he had. He pressed down, felt John’s hard cock rub against his own, and he snapped.

It was primal, it was wild and raw and it was need in its purest state. The way they rubbed against each other, the way John clawed at his back and bit and kiss at James’ lips, the way the heat made him feel dizzy every time his cock was pressed hard against the captain’s, the way James gasped into John’s mouth, the way his eyes closed when John moved just right. It was messy, it was rough, it was downright sinful and it felt so good. The heat between their bodies intoxicated them, crawling under their skin.

“Please, James…” He hears John beg, not sure what for.

James raises his hips just enough to pull his and John’s breeches down, just enough to free their cocks, and when he presses back the new feeling takesthe air away from their lungs.

James licks at his hand and grabs John’s cock, it’s hard and hot and pulsing under his grip. It makes the quartermaster whine loudly against his neck. He strokes it just right, wanting to hear more of John’s pleasure, he twists his wrist and thumbs at the wet head and he is sure the crew heard John’s loud moan. None of them could care less. There’s a hand sneaking down his abdomen, and his head falls into the crook of John’s neck when he grabs his aching cock. John is saying something but James can only figure out half of it, and it’s all curses mixed with his name. James’ hand falters when he feels John’s free one grabbing his ass hard enough to leave bruises, he moans and it makes John thrust his hips up into the captain’s hand, almost desperately. James moves John’s hand away and licks his palm once more, tasting John in it. With a grunt he grabs both of their cocks and starts a series of hard and fast strokes that turn them both into a panting and moaning mess. He feels heat pool on his lower stomach, and the way John clings to his shoulders with an iron grip tells him he’s not the only one feeling it.

They kiss, and it’s rough and intense and everything they need. James sinks his teeth on the quartermaster’s neck, and the unrestrained and filthy moan that escapes from his mouth blurs his already darkened vision. They are close, so close that the air around them is hot and John’s nails dig once more into the captain’s back, marking him. James pulls back from his neck and resting his elbow on the sand he uses his hand to pull back hard at John’s hair, to make sure nothing can stop him from hearing those moans and gasps.

“James,” His voice is hoarse, throat dry from his constant and heavy breathing. James shivers at the sound of his name. “James, I’m going to- “

“Do it.” The captain thrusts his hips faster and tightens the grip of his hands, ripping out a strangled moan from the other. “Come for me, John.”

He feels John arch his body into him, mouth falling open in a silent moan; he pushes James’ head down to kiss and bite at his lips and the raging fire inside him suddenly explodes. He comes, hard, white fluid covering James’ hand and their chests. The captain’s thrusts become erratic and he lets go of John’s oversensitive cock to stroke his own, hard and fast, desperate for release. John is still moaning softly under him and the way he traces a wet trail with his tongue from James’ neck to his lips drives him over the edge. Thick trails of cum land over John’s abdomen and he moans against his mouth, low and rough.

The world stops spinning for a moment, allowing the two pirates to steady their uncontrolled heartbeats. James rolls over to the side, careful not to put any weight on John’s severed leg. They lay there until they start to focus on the real world again and hear the quiet waves sing the same lullaby they listen to before falling asleep every night. They lay there until James’s hand finds John’s once more, and he’s not cold anymore. John smiles at the new warmth that James radiates and thinks that maybe, with enough luck, he still has time to find a way to dissolve some of James’ darkness; perhaps even all of it if the captain doesn’t become his end too soon.

            James closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He lets his lungs fill with the salty air of the ocean, and all he can smell is John, because John is the ocean and the air and James can breathe again. He laughs quietly and hears the other man doing the same. Despite not being able to see anything in the dark he looks at John.

            John repeats the sound of James’ laughter in his head over and over, deciding the world needs to hear it more often. He blinks and sees the starts again, and he is sure he can also see them all over James’ skin. He’s no longer suffocating, the darkness is far away now, and the waves still crash on the shore. They remind him that James is everywhere, blue and green and wild. Even if the night sky turns the world black, he moves his head to the side and looks at James.

Yes, James was the stars and John was the air and together they were the ocean. Both each other’s way of life, both each other’s end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are probably tons of mistakes, English is not my first language. Hope y'all like it!


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